


Reunions

by DeadishScribe



Category: Star Trek: Lower Decks (Cartoon)
Genre: Ancient Civilization, Archaeology, Awkward reunions, Boimler being awkward as always, Broken Heart, F/M, Fist Fight, Gen, Joint mission, Old Friends, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, USS Cerittos, USS Titan, Unexpected Emotions, an elite team, science and commanders, secret schemes, two crews
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadishScribe/pseuds/DeadishScribe
Summary: The USS Cerritos and Titan are assigned a joint mission of importance. It may seem an odd match, but it's not need to know... just yet. Boimler just hoped he wouldn't have to see Mariner, because who would assign a degenerate ensign to a high tier mission? He should've known his luck wouldn't hold out. Old friends are met, chaos ensued, and more than one difficult conversation to be had.
Relationships: Brad Boimler/Beckett Mariner
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Scene 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! I plan to treat this fic a bit like an episode, writing it in scenes rather than chapters (in name, at least). I can't recall the inspiration, but so far I have ten scenes planned with the potential for more.  
> Do I have a habit of starting multi-chapter fics and leaving them to slumber? Maybe. Will I ever stop? Absolutely not.
> 
> Please, enjoy!

_58972.4_

_Baharazana VI System_

_0945 hours_

Boimler felt a bead of sweat follow from his forehead down to the edge of his brow where he wiped it away with the cuff of his sleeve. It was far too stuffy in the turbo lift, especially with Captain Riker and Commander Troi standing at his side, making conversation as they always did. He hooked his finger and tugged at the collar of his uniform. The now lieutenant had considered wearing full dress uniform, but the captain gently, if firmly, talked him out of it. Being asked to join a meeting with your old captain had a way of, well… implying certain expectations. At least, it did in Bradward Boimler’s mind; proper presentation, showing both personal and professional growth, conduct becoming of an officer, etc. There were a thousand scenarios running through his head right about now, taking up the entirety of his focus. This all had so many ways to go so very wrong. Plenty of ways it could go well, certainly, but how likely were they? According to his luck: not very. 

There was a muted sound coming from his right. At first he thought it was just the turbo lift, but eventually it registered as a human voice. More specifically, his _captain’s_ voice, now dragging him back to reality “Brad? Hey, Bradward!” Riker gave a big grin as he clapped Boimler on the shoulder.

The poor lieutenant about leapt out of his skin “Huh? What? Uh, sorry, sir!”

“I asked if you were excited to see your old ship and crew again! It’s always great to see old friends again, never happens often enough in StarFleet, but that’s just my opinion”

Commander Troi joined in on the conversation, “You never have ‘just an opinion’”

Riker turned to her with a raised eyebrow and a smug expression, “You’re right, but you said I should practice more humility.”

Deanna slapped his arm as she rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

They were still a pair of love birds, even after all this time. They had no shame or compunction for whatever they spoke about in front of the bridge crew. Boimler didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count all the times he had to actively get the captain’s attention on the bridge. He had hoped they would get carried away with themselves again, at least for the sake of his own respite. Unfortunately, Boimler was wrong, and Riker kept nudging him to answer, despite his wife’s protest.

“You see, sir… well, there’s an old friend on the Cerritos that was none too happy about my transfer” Boimler wondered if he sounded as sheepish as he felt.

“Mariner you mean?”

Boimler looked directly at his captain—something he made sure to avoid on a daily basis, his blood pressure couldn’t take it—and blinked several times. His face was blank in an attempt to process how adept Riker is, “Sir, how did you—”

“Oh, Mariner sent me about two dozen messages, many of which weren’t very fond of me”

Or that. Oh god, she even _harassed_ _Riker_? Did her insubordination know no bounds? Of course it doesn’t, why would he even ask, he knew better.

It didn’t feel that way when he transferred to the Titan. Once he had settled in, however, a seed of doubt sprouted, growing bit by bit. Did he really make the right decision? Was he still a decent human being after leaving his friends without so much as a word?

He didn’t want to think of those answered, especially not now.

The turbo lift beeped to announce its arrival to the desired destination. Boimler knew he’d have only the briefest of moments to prepare himself. He hooked his collar with a finger, pulling at it as he gave a rather audible gulping sound, loud enough for his superiors to hear. Oh well, it’s not like they didn’t already know his nerves were frayed to bits. He was just glad his legs weren’t shaking. At least, not nearly as bad as when he took the final exam at the academy. 

The doors slid open. Riker and Troi exited first, as per their rank, then Boimler. Not too close, not too far, times just right, Mike a good officer. He made sure to stand off and to the side ever so slightly. Sure, it may be exhausting constantly thinking about every little movement around superior officers, but it was kind of his M.O. at this point. Besides, this was their show, not his. Maybe one day, though, maybe.

When the doors slid open with a satisfying hiss, the three of them were greeted by Captain Freeman in a formal if comfortable stance. Ransom was, of course, standing beside her, shoulders as square as his immaculately sculpted jaw. His hair was almost immaculate. Boiler’s nostrils were already familiar with his usual colognes, but he’d certainly forgotten how potent they were. And on the other side of Ransom was…

Mariner?!

And she looked none too please...

_Shit._

Alright, he could keep his cool, he’d be fine. Never mind the sweat on his brow. Or the rasp in his voice he just knew was coming. 

Freeman began first, “Captain Riker, I would like to wel—”

“Carol!!!” Riker hollered as he proceeded to bear hug her into the air just like the last time. Boimler didn’t need to look to know Commander Troi was bringing a hand to her face. Her husband was always like this. Yes, _always_. 

Freeman struggled to get a word out, “Riker… good to, uh, see you again”

“Oh come on, ‘Riker’? What happened to ‘Will’?”

“First name basis is for off duty hours”

Riker merely gave a playful roll of his eyes, then stepped to the side and presented his companions with an open palm “You all know Commander Troi, as well as Lieutenant Boimler, the returning prodigal son!” Oh how Riker enjoyed using a little… poetic license. Also probably a little of that good ol’ Klingon exaggeration from Worf. Captain Worf now, of course. Many thought Worf unfit for command for several reasons, and while the man was a bit coarse at times from what he had heard, Boimler looked up to him; the first Klingon officer of StarFleet, and more than that, he rose and earned a command of his own. He was the embodiment of what StarFleet was and should always strive to be in many ways. 

Freeman broke Boimler’s train of thought, “A good man, and good officer. I trust he’s performed up to expectations?”

To hear such a thing from the captain—well, the other captain—filled him with some emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Almost like a welling of helium in his chest, as odd as it might sound. He stood just a little taller.

“And then some” Riker responded with a curt nod, “he’s really grown since he transferred”

“That’s excellent to hear. I’m sure you remember Mariner?” Freeman gestured to her daughter with an open hand. Everyone was effectively ignoring the fact that she was the captain’s daughter… and that her presence there was odd in general.

“Aye, ma’am. It’s good to see you, Beck—… Mariner” he had to swallow the urge to refer to her by first name. He rarely ever did, yet here they were, connected by some sort of intimate tension between the two of them. It was certainly palpable, no one could deny that. Least of all Boimler. _Especially_ Boimler. 

Mariner simply cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms in a most begrudged manner “ _Lieutenant Boimler_ ”

That stung. Again, he couldn’t put his finger on why, but it did. Deep, painful, almost a spike through his heart. He wishes he knew what it meant. Boimler was simply glad she wasn’t making good on her promise to, quote ‘kick his ass’

Boy was he wrong.

Just as rest of those present began _looking_ uncomfortable, Mariner stomped forward, landing a solid right hook that connect with the rear of Boimler’s jaw. To her surprise, however, he took it well… ok, he took it better than he would have before transferring to the motherfucking _Titan_ (fuck him for that, seriously). The block was solid for a surprise attack, using both his forearms. It still gave her an opening for a follow up left hook which he only partially blocked, this time with a single forearm. With a core shot neatly lined up, she brought her knee up into his gut. At that point she was pulled off of him by Freeman and Ransom, Riker and Troi practically catching Boimler.

“What the hell was that?!” Freeman pinned her daughter across her chest with an arm, “what’s gotten into you!”

Boimler was wondering the same thing, the only difference being that he was desperately struggling for air. His gasps and wheezes were less than dignified to say the least. 

“He left, ok? He left the Cerritos without so much as a fucking goodbye! He left Tendi and Rutherford and… me. He left us in the dust” Mariner struggled against the captain, but not to escape her hold. Rather, it was an involuntary display of emotion, one she didn’t know where it was coming from from. She was almost blinded by her tears. 

It left the others stunned with the exception of Commander Troi. She felt this boiling in the ensign the moment they were nearing the deck in the turbo lift. A raging storm of feelings and thoughts. Much pain and anguish, sorrow, even… mourning, in a way. But also joy and jubilation, and Troi could easily guess that the Lieutenant was the source of all this inside Mariner. She was like a beacon bright enough to be seen from the tallest mountain. Boimler, on the other hand, was more difficult to read. Not by strength of will, per se. Mariner was superior in that regard, but she wasn’t hiding anything she was feeling in the moment. Boimler his himself behind layer after layer (like an onion). All authentic, if equally cryptic and vague. A solid defense for someone like him. It would do him well in the future, she was certain of it. 

Riker sighed. Oh to be young again, “Look, you can settle this later, ok? For now let’s get to the mission brief”

Freeman stepped in to back him up, “I agree, this no time for a lover’s spa--”

She could barely get the last word out as Mariner’s hands shot down to her sides and one her her eyes about popping out of her head Shaxs Style™, “ _WE ARE NOT LOVERS_ _**STOPSAYINGLOVERS**_ ”

_Ok then._

For some reason, Freeman’s Captain Senses™ were tingling.


	2. When it's in a Conference Room...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what they say, when it's in a conference room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this weeks ago, but school, health, and life in general as really held me up. Sorry about that! I don't know when the next chapter of this will roll out, but I have another Late Night Bonding in the works and another fic entirely half way through. So please, enjoy!

_58972.4_

_Baharazana VI System_

_1000 hours_

Mariner sat there, directly across from Boimler, her arms nearly as crossed as she was. Her glare could’ve laid a Klingon flat, it was all he could do but ignore her the best he could and instead focus on the briefing.

He was failing miserably.

“We’ll overlook the assault, for now that is” Freeman spoke, pulling Boimler from his thoughts, “but striking a superior officer is a serious offense” 

He winced at being referred to as Mariner’s ‘superior officer’. There was something just fundamentally wrong about it. If he didn’t know better, Boimler would’ve said Freeman’s glare was damn near piercing through Mariner. They were the unstoppable force which met the immovable object pretty much every time they spoke. He was never certain who was who in the dynamic. 

“Good, I’d rather just get to work too, _ma’am_ ” yeesh, it was never pretty when Mariner was pissed, but this was something else entirely. 

Everyone else looked, understandably, uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than before that is. Not at all embarrassing. Mariner was always making a scene--did she always have to make a scene? He supposed that was akin to asking if the sun always had to rise.

Riker rose from his chair, clearing his throat as he went to the head of the conference table, “Alright then, let’s get this briefing on the road” the good captain did love his old slang. With his hands behind his back, the viewing screen activated to a display of various, over complicated graphs and schematics. Boimler always wondered _how_ they did that without pressing anything. “As it turns out, we have another T’Kon-Iconia situation”

The lieutenant had read all the reports from the Enterprise bridge crew from those two particular incidents; T’Kon, the ancient state empire that nearly claimed the Enterprise, and Iconia, another ancient empire of a hyper advanced species. Both equally fascinating, let alone valuable knowledge for an up and coming officer aspiring to greatness. Pretty soon they were going to have to make a classification for such scenarios. Perhaps, just maybe, this could be Boimler’s chance to really shine, his big break.

His captain continued on with the briefing, “This time it's a civilization known as Aktara. K’s seem to be popular in species names it seems” he gave a quick chuckle “however, there is one big glaring difference in that we have little intel as to their motives. There’s no detectable tech, no odd signatures—nothing. Indistinguishable from any other dead civilization. It was supposedly catalogued, but apparently…” he shrugged, “it seems we missed something”

Boimler raised his hand, which was promptly met by a synchronized sigh.

“Boimler, this isn’t class, say what’s on your mind” Riker was a frank and honest captain, and he was struggling to acclimate to that. At least he was friendly about it, always sporting a smile. 

The lieutenant cleared his throat, “I was wondering, if this is a similar situation, then there must be an aggressor; with the T’Kon it was the Ferengi, then Iconia it was the Romulans. Who is it now and how big of a threat do they pose?”

Riker have a wink with a click of his tongue, “Sharp man. In this instance it’s a quadroped insectoid species known as the Ga’Rya” the captain shifted to the next slide, as they would’ve said in the twentieth and twenty first centuries. It was a diagram of a front and side profile. As Riker had said, they were indeed insectoid with an exoskeleton. The four legs weren’t the only limbs, as they had two arms on either side, much like humans. Unlike humans, however, they had four pronged pincers and four joints including what could be considered shoulders. Their faces weren’t much friendlier. Boimler wasn’t sure how to feel about that knee jerk reaction, it felt… specist, humanoid centric, but a fear of bugs was pervasive among his own species.

Not that he was afraid of bugs or anything. Not at all. Not one bit. 

Nope.

“As you can see, they’re impressive, and apex predators. More so than humans, in fact” Riker went on, pointing out various points in the diagrams. “Superb natural defenses, razor sharp, well, _everything_ , the works. Mean, lean, and lethal. And they live in hives, so that means there’ll be a lot of them. Yay us” 

Boimler didn’t want to be the guy who asked too many questions, but he was less than comfortable with unknowns, especially when he had resources right in front of him, “Hives, sir? How many are we talking about?” He could practically sense the intensity of Mariner’s rolling eyes as he spoke. Probably thinking some sort of insult along the lines of ‘nerd’, ‘loser’, and ‘try hard’, but all probably much worse.

Deanna was having a field day studying these two.

Captain Riker went on to explain their general structure and society. Caste based to no one’s surprise, each caste being evolved and specialized in specific areas of duty and expertise; combat and warfare, engineering, manual labor, administration, the works. And while they numbered in the hundreds of millions as a species, the hive they were most likely to encounter was no more than a tens of thousands strong.

No pressure. 

Meanwhile, he wasn’t looking, but he could still feel Mariner’s glare boring a hole in his skull. Maybe she really _did_ have mind powers. It couldn’t have gone unnoticed by the others in attendance, he could only assume they were actively ignoring her more successfully than he was. Boimler could also practically feel the tapping of Mariner’s foot through the floor. Eventually he felt a tap, but chalked it up to nerves. Then came another, then another, and another, each with slightly more force than the last. Was she… playing footsy? Really? At a time like this? After everything that had happened?

Ok, maybe not _playing_ so much as _violently aggressive and relentless_. Mariner just kept it up, certainly still holding herself to her word even in the middle of a conference. Perhaps especially in the middle of a conference. Eventually he would have to fight back and he did. She looked at him with surprise. Angry, almost rage filled surprise, but surprise nonetheless. Then came the ‘ _oh no, you did NOT just fucking do that_ ’ expression she saved for special occasions. It became a war before long. Their bodies began to shake with force, and their attention—or at least Boimler’s, Riker never had Mariner’s—was focused solely on each other. Yet, there was something odd forming now. Smiles on their faces slowly spread from small grins to their cheeks. Boimler’s tongue stuck out in focus and Mariner actually began to giggle, if only ever so slightly. 

They were, however, interrupted by a sudden and abrupt clearing of a throat, Captain Freeman’s throat, “Is there something the matter, Lieutenant? Ensign?”

Both straightened up, coughing to cover up their awkwardness. And their confusion, oddly enough. Confusion about what just happened and why. Wasn’t Mariner supposed to hate Boimler now? Wasn’t Boimler the uptight junior officer constantly looking to impress his superiors to the point of relentless ass kissing? What had happened to all that only a few moments ago?

“No ma’am” Boimler said, giving a curt shake of his head. 

“Very good” she replied.

Boimler then raised his hand again, only to be met by Riker’s groans, “Boimler, what did I say before”

The try hard Lieutenant lowered his hand once again. In a painfully awkward fashion no less, “You said that the hive is several thousand strong at least… StarFleet is against mass slaughter by default. Is there a solution to work around this?”

“Good man, and an excellent question. That’s why we’re asking you”

Mariner and Boimler exchanged looks. A mix of shock and bewilderment namely. Their mouths were agape and no words left their lips. This only prompted Riker to laugh, though Captain Freeman stepped in to speak, “The reason is that the two of you have shown an exceptional capability at problem solving, as we all know and has been proven repeatedly. Captain Riker and I have ideas, but we’ve decided to lean on you for this assignment; your plans are more often than not vital to the success of our crews.”

Boimler stroked his chin. He was clean shaven, as always. If nothing else, he enjoyed the sensation of smooth skin, but Mariner guessed he also couldn’t grow a full beard. Her imagination was certainly entertaining. The idea of him growing out a partial, pardonable pube-esque facial hair made her borderline giggly. It was one of her many mental images that never failed to cheer her up. Of course she was holding back the urge to laugh. If only barely. 

Her friend—or perhaps her former friend—stood up and headed to the viewer screen. She wasn’t used to him being hands on. She would have expected to sit at his desk like a good little boy, but instead he had changed. It was… troubling, in its own way.

He began to speak, “It seems that they have auditory sensitivity, most likely developed alongside their ability to communicate through a variety of sounds across multiple hertz ranges..” he snapped, turning to the others “aha! We can use that against them”

Riker leans forward against the back of a chair, “Elaborate”

“If we can tap into a frequency that they’re particularly sensitive, we can ward them off. Of course, there’s no guarantee it’ll work, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d still have to engage them as hostiles, but if nothing else I imagine it would improve our odds. If it were just the Cerritos I’d suggest using one of the moons as cover, however we have the Titan, which lends us several advantages”

Mariner hated to admit it but… she was actually impressed. Very impressed. Almost too impressed. She shouldn’t have felt that, or at least she _thought_ she shouldn’t feel that. He betrayed the lot of them, she shouldn’t give him credit. Yet credit was due where it was. Maybe. She hadn’t decided just yet. Even if he had grown as an officer, as a person, that didn’t inherently mean he was off the hook. _‘Oh no, boy-o Boims, you ain’t that lucky’_.

But if she really did hate him like she told herself over and over and over again she should drop the nicknames… right?

Then why couldn’t she?

Riker crossed his arms, nodding solemnly, “It’s a decent enough lead for now. We have no more than 57 hours to implement all the necessary components and preparations, so get to it. If anyone can, it’s us… or the Enterprise, but they’re dealing with the Borg at the moment, so it really is up to us.”

57 hours? Max?

They’re so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The kudos and comments are so so so SO appreciated. I'm also so sorry I haven't gotten back to any of them, but please know I read and love each of them (yes, even yours). I promise to get back to them at... some point!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe out there!  
> As always, with love,  
> That Kinda Sorta Dead Dude <3
> 
> p.s.  
> I've updated/changed the stardate and times because I'm one of Those fans.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is an excellent set up for the fic, don't you? Like I said, this is the first of ten planned scenes, and there is the possibility of other surprise scenes to come. I hope you enjoyed it and look forward to more!
> 
> As always, please stay safe!
> 
> With love,  
> That Sorta Kinda Dead Dude <3


End file.
